(Above): the half-timbered façade of the building lit up by golden light

I drove to one of the largest of the town’s hotels, in a plantation of its own, surrounded by spacious gardens (towering rhododendrons). Parking my car at the front, the gravel crunched underfoot as I approached the main entrance, the half-timbered façade of the building lit up by golden light. The hotel was a preferred retreat of the three daughters of Edward VII (in the days when it was a private house) and later had a significant association with the RAF during the Second World War.

Meeting Marie-Astrid and Julie, we went into the main lounge for a drink (non-alcoholic as Marie-Astrid doesn’t drink and Julie, who is Scottish, was recovering from a massive day-and-night bender). Comfortable sofas and chairs, wood fire burning in the grate, murmured voices from the other guests grouped around the big room (“Family parties are so awful” said one middle-aged woman as the group she was with got up to meet another group approaching across the wide expanse of Axminster). When it was time for us to leave (we were going to the cinema) Marie-Astrid suggested walking through the woods, but changed her mind when we got outside and found a light drizzle was falling.

A few minutes later we were in another part of the town, in yet another wood, where the cinema was located. This building was a low 1920s pavilion, seemingly so insubstantial in construction that it is a surprise it has lasted so long. I offered to pay for the tickets, but the ticket office wouldn’t accept credit cards so Marie-Astrid and Julie ended up subsidising me.